


I don't know how to make it

by rxcrcfllptrs



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Implied Character Death, M/M, backwards fic, general confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing you would be the death of me. - G</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't know how to make it

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Levi Kreis' "Lonely Sunday Morning".

This is the last time he sees Gavin Free. 

In a snippet of a newspaper, the brit's face goofy as it's always been. The ink's been marred by tears, leaving the words of the article blurred and unclear. Michael's head is slow, full of cotton, full of the 'what ifs' and the 'what should've been's. 

"The fuck am I supposed to do with this?" he asks the older man, angry tears hinting at the corner of his eyes. Geoff's face is apologetic and sad and betrayed and devastated, and that scares Michael. The man looks like he's about to break into pieces.

He almost pukes out his dinner when the newspaper hits his table. Michael looks up to Geoff Ramsey's pained face. "I'm so sorry, Michael."

The door opens, and Geoff walks in. Michael's head is in his hands, because there's this ache in his chest. Something's happened, and he doesn't know what it is. It's killing him, because it's something so big and important and he _doesn't_ _fucking know._ He wants to scream. But he knows. _He knows._ There's something missing, a big gaping hole. He punches a wall in frustration.

Afternoon is a somber occasion, when he walks out of the Rooster Teeth office with only a 'get back when you feel better' and a pat on the back. There's a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, no longer numb, but the grip is tight. As if his last connection with Gavin is this piece of paper, and he shouldn't - can't let go.

"You okay there, Michael?" Ray asks him. "Where's Gavin, by the way?" The question is so innocent, so unassuming, but he hits the brink. He rage quits and turns off his computer without any work done. The reflection in the unpowered screen is startling. This is not Michael Jones, this is a gaunt looking man who's lost, a shadow of who Michael Jones was before.

Driving to work is silent. Usually the car is filled with sounds of the radio, Gavin goading him to sing along to the top 40 songs playing. He doesn't sing very well, and neither does Gavin, and he's never going to do it again. Even the turning the music down low won't cut it, it hurts too much. There's a piece of paper on his dashboard, rushed handwriting strangling what he knows of the English language. The last teardrop hits when he runs a red light.

He doesn't have breakfast. Breakfast was - is - his and Gavin's thing. Them fighting over whether the eggs would be scrambled or sunny side up that day, if they cook bacon or reheat the leftovers from last night. The kitchen is devoid of anyone but him. The bright yellow on the kitchen walls fades into a dull grey, much like everything else in the damn apartment. Gavin took the life out of him, and every fucking thing that mattered in his life.

When he wakes up, he wakes up alone. The clothes in his drawers are messed up, half of the contents gone. Someone hastily took half the clothes - Gavin took half the clothes. He took his own clothes. He actually left. The sound that bubbles from his throat is nothing like laughter. A cheap carbon copy of it. There's no joy, only the sadness that's pooled in the depths of his stomach.

It's 3am when he finally falls asleep. Gavin's breath is evened out, as if the argument earlier hadn't happened at all. Michael is thankful for it, even though there's a niggling in his brain, something is still wrong. He pushes aside the thought, putting his arm over Gavin, as the younger man borrows deeper into his chest. Warmth explodes, and he goes under smiling.

Gavin's wrath is no laughing matter at all. The man laughs and jokes all the time, even when it's long past that point. But his fury is white-hot and burns though out. There's so much shouting, so much anger in the room. The tension keeps them taut like strings on a violin, but only horrible, horrible noise coming out. Words are being tossed around, insults flying, it's the worst argument they've had in their entire relationship.

Michael enters the room, and Gavin stands up, nostrils flaring. He knows what he's done, he has to pay the price. He might even get some good angry sex after it.

He hopes this isn't the last time he sees Gavin Free.

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't guessed already, this can be read forwards or backwards. I just got bored and wrote it this way. Yolo, right?


End file.
